


The Fire in His Heart

by and7



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, My First Fanfic, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Violence, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Romance, Slow Burn, but not that slow, ok what am I saying there will be tons of smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-05-30 20:55:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19411225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/and7/pseuds/and7
Summary: I am not a writer, just a shameless Sansan shipper. Post season 8. Changed some major story elements but story mainly focuses on what happens at Winterfell. Constructive criticism and comments appreciated, this is the first time I've ever done a story.





	1. The Fire in his Heart (Sandor)

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic ever. Thanks for clicking on it. Hope you like it.

**1**

Sandor Clegane heard the crackling of fire as he woke, and smelled the burnt flesh that was his brother beneath him. Then he felt the pain. He could feel pain through his legs which he knew was good- the fall hadn’t crippled him like the Stark boy  
_Fuck, he cursed to himself._  
He almost wished that he couldn’t feel his own body. He could feel his left arm broken at both the shoulder and forearm, several ribs must be broken, he didn’t even want to know what his bloody face looked like. He hadn’t opened his eyes, afraid that he would see nothing. Gregor had sure tried to gouge his eyes out like he did with the little Martell Lord, and what use was a warrior like Sandor Clegane without his eyes?  
_Even more useless than the Lannister cunt with only one hand._  
In trying to keep his eyes closed, unconsciousness took Sandor again and he dreamed of fire. He was falling from the tower of the Red Keep into bright red and orange flames. But they weren’t flames anymore, it was hair- the fiery red locks of Sansa Stark that caught him gently, and he knew death by fire should not feel this soft and sweet. He could hear voices around him.  
_The rest of the poor fuckers that burned when the white haired bitch took kings landing. This is it, he thought, this is dying. Cushioned by Sansa Stark’s sweet hair. He tried to drown out the voices with thoughts of the little bird but they were too loud. At first they were screaming, but it soon faded to mumbles around him._  
The voices became clearer and he realized that he wasn’t dying- in fact he was moving. Sickness came over him and without even thinking he opened his eyes, sat up and retched- into a bucket that had been left there for him. He could see it, but only with one eye. He let out a string of curses but at the same time thanked the seven that at least he still had one eye.  
Now that he was sitting he looked around and saw that he was on a pile of straw and furs being pulled in a cart. It looked like the Kingsroad, but headed away from Kings Landing.  
“What the fuck do you want with me now,” he tried to shout, but his voice came out raspy and hoarse. He coughed, still tasting smoke on his own breath. He instinctively reached for his sword but realized he was no longer in armor and belt, just a tunic and some blankets that had been tossed over his body. He tried to get up, to stand or kneel or manage even some movement but the pain had him on his back again, and he cursed.  
“Rest Clegane,” he heard a man on a horse next to the cart say. “The Queen will see you soon and decide what’s to be done with you.”  
_Fuck. So the Dragon bitch wanted to see him. Or at least these men were taking him to her. He knew what she had done to Varys- he had no love for the eunuch but to die like that, skin melting like his own face…_  
Without his injuries, Sandor Clegane would have at least strategized how he could escape. How he could kill all these men, take their valuables and run like he had with the little wolf. He wondered if she was still alive, but that sent even more pain through his chest, so he pushed the thought out of his mind.  
_He was a Clegane, a lannister dog gone rogue. Why in the seven hells did he give a shit about the Stark girl. The Stark girls, both of them._  
He knew that Arya didn’t hate him, at least not anymore. She had plenty of chances to kill him and in the nights before the Battle at Winterfell he truly thought he would have let her if she tried. Gods he deserved it.  
But Sansa Stark. The little bird. She had always been so afraid of him. He heard the men speak of what had been done to her after she escaped Kings Landing. Molested by littlefinger, then sold to Ramsay fucking Bolton. At least it hadn’t been his brother. Ramsay only had one dead wife to Gregor’s three.  
He’d heard the rumours from the men he passed on the road. The screaming Lady of Winterfell. The men in the castle heard it every night. It made Sandor sick to his stomach thinking of what that bastard had done to her.  
But she had escaped. She escaped, and she killed him with his own dogs. He knew she was not the little bird anymore. She was a wolf now, and he admired her more than ever.  
The rocking of the cart was putting him to sleep, and he made a short prayer before he passed out again. Sandor was not a religious man but he prayed to all the Gods he knew that he might see the little bird and the wolf bitch again before he burned at the feet of the Targaryen Queen.


	2. Queen of the North (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I know this is slow I'll get em together real soon I promise!

Sansa Stark arrived back in Winterfell from the council at King’s Landing to an eruption of cheers from the Northerners who had gathered for her coronation. As she rode into the courtyard, she made a note to herself which houses were gathered. The young Lord Cerwyn stood as she rode past, a somber look in his eyes. She couldn’t blame him though, like herself, he had also suffered greatly at the hands of Ramsay Bolton. 

_We have both watched our own kin die. At least Ned and Rickon’s deaths were quick._

Howland Reed gave her a gentle smile, and she smiled back at him. His daughter Meera had not come, and she knew it had something to do with Bran. She had not been close enough with her brother to get more than that. 

Sansa smiled as she rode past Lords and Ladies of smaller houses, until she came face to face with Lord Robett Glover. 

“Queen Sansa,” he said curtly, and something about his expression reminded her of Littlefinger. She looked on at his wife, then his son Gawen who stared her up and down like she was something to eat. 

“Lord and Lady Glover. Gawen. It is a pleasure,” Sansa replied, keeping a calm and collected face on. She urged her horse forwards, but could feel their stares on her back until she arrived at the stables.

Sansa slid off her horse, eager to get to her chambers and be alone for a while before the coronation and the feast. Brienne, who had ridden with her for the last two days dismounted as well and used her tall stature to clear a path for the two of them into the castle, through the main halls and into her families wing. Neither of them spoke, both knowing that the other was too exhausted after the journey to engage in conversation.

Sansa had asked Brienne to be her queensguard when she was crowned, she would need a friend to keep her company now that her family was split up again. Jon at the Wall, Arya sailing off beyond the edges of the maps, Bran in Kings Landing helping Tyrion rule the six Kingdoms. 

She had soaked into a hot tub of water, when sleep took her, and she dreamed of him again.

_He was standing over the bed, a flaying knife in one had and a sadistic grin on his face. He ordered her to kneel with her back to him and she obeyed, knowing that he would only make it worse if she didn’t. She felt his tongue trace a line up her back, followed by the cool edge of the blade on her wet skin. She flinched at the feel of it, and her body tensed. The blade pressed into her skin, peeling it from her and she screamed-_

“Lady Sansa!” She awoke to Brienne shouting her name, and realized her bath had become cool. How long had she been sleeping?

“I’m… am I late to the ceremony? My coronation…” Sansa rambled, coming back from her vivid dream.

“My Lady, you are not late, but you should dress and call your handmaids to fix your hair.” Sansa had been braiding her hair in the back for the journey home and it was tangled beyond what she was capable of fixing herself. She summoned her maids Pia and Layna, both Riverlands women that had been terrorized during the wars, but had made it to safety at Winterfell somehow. Sansa liked their company because they understood how being abused had changed her, they shared her aversion to being touched, and they didn’t look away from her scars in disgust because they had scars of their own.

Pia brushed Sansa’s hair into a traditional northern style, and Layna helped her dress in a beautiful grey gown, patterned with the leaves of a weirwood tree on it. It was a beautiful gown, and Sansa wished that Septa Mordane could have been alive to see it. 

Soon she was ready to descend back into the busy palace. Followed by Brienne and Yohn Royce, she took her place at the throne her father had once sat on as Lord of Winterfell. 

“Queen of the North!” Her bannermen cried as they raised their swords to her. 

She said the vows to the old Gods in front of the crowd, and would say them again later in the Godswood. She formally knighted Brienne to her queensguard, and named Yohn Royce her hand. The feast went smoothly, there was plenty of food for everyone in the hall, and even more wine. 

Her guests went to bed happy, and when the Queen of the North went to bed herself, she fell asleep in her gown as soon as her head hit her pillow, hair still in her braids, crown still on her head. For the first time in months, Sansa Stark slept without nightmares.

  



	3. Coming Home (Sandor)

As he travelled, Sandor’s body began to heal. He could stand again, and was beginning to be able to swing his greatsword, much to the dislike of the other men, who avoided speaking to him.

_ They must think I’m my fucking brother.  _

Sandor was surprised they didn’t keep him in chains. 

It was getting noticeably colder the more distance they covered, and Sandor began to recognize some of the land around them. They were headed North. 

_ The fucking wall, that’s it. Killed Cersei’s entire queensguard and the Targaryen bitch is sending me to the fucking wall. At least I won’t end up like Varys. _

The wall wasn’t so bad though, Sandor thought. He had already seen the worst of what was beyond it, hell he’d carried it on his back when they took the wight to King’s Landing. He would fight with Tormund and… Sandor thought of Jorah, Beric, the others who had been killed by the bloody undead fuckers. Beric had died to save little Arya, seven bless him. He would have done the same. He would jump into the fire for either of the Stark girls.

They were coming upon Winterfell, and even in the dark of night the whole castle was lit up. Arya must have returned home, he hoped. Maybe if her or Sansa ever went to see the wall he would see them once more before he died.  


He pressed on, thankful to finally be able to ride Stranger again instead of being stuck in that fucking cart like a cripple. 

They didn’t pass Winterfell however, they were riding right up to the main gates, which were opened for the group. 

_ Seven hells, if the dragon cunt is here… _

He knew that Daenerys Targaryen did not like Sansa Stark, it was obvious by the way the silver haired queen looked at her. Sansa was loved by the people in the North, while Daenerys ruled with fear, and bloody dragons. 

Sandor Clegane dismounted Stranger at the stables, and was led by four men into the main hall, where there sat an empty throne. The room smelled like hot food and wine, and Sandor realized that he was starving. He was distracted by the sight of a tall knight walking in the room and standing next to the throne. With his good eye he could see the knight had a soft face and-

“Queen Sansa Stark of Winterfell and the North,” the knight called out to the almost empty room, and he realized that it wasn’t a man.

_ Brienne of fucking Tarth. Wait. Queen Sansa fucking Stark. Of Winterfell and the fucking North. What the fuck happened here? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one is really short but get ready for the next one its a big boi  
> Y'all are wonderful for reading this far, if it weren't for your Kudos and comments I don't think I would have the courage to post more of this story. So big thanks and tons of love


	4. A Place in my Heart (Sansa)

Sansa was woken from a peaceful, dreamless sleep by a loud knocking at her chamber door. She yawned and stretched, realizing she was still in her coronation gown. 

“Enter,” she said through another yawn and slowly stood up, reaching to take the braids out of her hair that had been flattened by her pillow. 

Her hand and good friend Yohn Royce entered the room, wearing his cloak she had embroidered him for court. It was grey for house Stark, but had the runes for house Royce around the head of the wolf. He carried his greatsword on his back. 

_ That cloak was made for court. What is going on?  _

“Queen Sansa, they found ser Clegane in the wreck of King’s landing. His brother damn near killed him but not quite. They brought him here so you could decide what’s to be done with him.”

Sansa’s heart sunk.

_ She knew she should have told him to stay in Winterfell. Now he’d gotten himself killed trying to get revenge on his brother. At least she would get to make the order to take the head of the Mountain.  _

With the braids out and her hair loose, Sansa adjusted her crown and soberly followed Lord Royce out of her chambers. 

“Your Grace,” Royce addressed her as they approached the door to the main hall. “If you don’t wish to look upon him, I will stand in for you. He never has been a pretty sight.”

“No, my Lord, I am the Queen now, I must do this.” 

_ For Sandor. My knight who wasn’t a knight. _

Sansa waited for Brienne to announce her, then entered the main hall. It was empty except for her guard and her hand, and as she approached her throne, she tried to avoid looking at the large figure kneeling, head bowed at the center of the room. 

Once Sansa had taken her seat, she turned her gaze to the man on his knees. Sandor Clegane looked up at her. His hair was singed and much of it had burned off. His left eye was white, and there were new scars covering his face and hands. He was dressed in a light tunic, but somehow he still looked just as massive without armor and his sword. 

Little bird,” he whispered, barely audible. 

_ He’s alive… The Mountain is dead… He did it… He survived King’s Landing. _

“Sandor Clegane,” Sansa spoke, trying to stay calm like a Queen should. 

She knew that Brienne and Lord Royce were expecting her to order his execution, or at least send him back to the wall, but there were things even her closest friend and hand didn’t know. How Sandor Clegane had saved her many times in King’s landing- when she would have pushed Joffrey of the battlements, he had stopped her. He had wrapped his cloak around her when she was stripped and beaten by Meryn Trant. He went back for her during the bread riot, and killed the men who would have raped her. He offered to protect her the night the Blackwater burned. He came to her chambers and offered his protection, and left with only a song.

_ “No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them.” _

His words from that night filled her mind. Once his massive frame and burned face had scared her, but long ago she had stopped being afraid. He was fearsome even to seasoned warriors, but she knew he would never hurt her. Even when he had his dagger pressed to her throat, she knew that he wouldn’t have killed her. He made her feel safe, that was why through her time in the Vale and with Ramsay, she had kept his cloak hidden with her things. She used to wrap it around herself when she cried at night. She still did when the worst of her nightmares plagued her. 

_ He calls me little bird.  _

Sansa heard Lord Royce take a step towards her and it brought her out of her thoughts. Her head came back to Winterfell, and she spoke again.

“You protected my dear sister Arya from those who might hurt her or give her to the Lannisters. For this alone I will forgive your years in their service. You went beyond the wall to capture a wight, and prove that the Night King was a true threat to the realm. You fought bravely on the side of the living during the battle at Winterfell. You slayed the fearsome Mountain that Rides. The North is greatly in debt to you. I can offer knighthood or lordship, land or gold. Name a reward, and it will be given to you as long as it is in my power.”

“No, Lady- I mean Queen Sansa… He’s a monster,” she heard Brienne gasp. Sandor Clegane chuckled from where he was still kneeling. 

Sansa looked to where Lord Royce stood. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, quietly enough so that only himself, her and Brienne could hear. He didn’t try to hide his surprised expression. 

“I am absolutely sure,” she answered her hand, but looked at her guard as she spoke. 

_ The Hound was a monster. Sandor Clegane is a good man.  _

Sansa turned back to the man kneeling before her, and nodded to him. 

“Well first of all I want my bloody sword and armor back. Your lot of cunts took it from me when they carted me back up to this freezing fucking castle,” Sandor grunted, unaffected by the looks of shock from Lord Royce and Brienne. 

Sansa called for one of the men that had escorted Sandor to Winterfell, and instructed that he find the sword. The armor, he told her had been a ruin when he was found in the fire. Within minutes, he returned to the hall and placed a worn, burnt belt and a bloody sword in front of Sandor Clegane.

Sandor stood slowly, getting onto one knee first, then pushing himself to his feet. Sansa could tell by the way he moved that he had been hurt badly in the fight with his brother. She made a note to herself that she would have the maester take a look at his injuries. He fastened the belt around his tunic and picked up his sword, making it look like it weighed nothing. 

__ _ Even hurt he is still strong. And even with the old scars and the new, he is handsome. _

__ Sansa stopped that thought, because Sandor was now walking towards her. Both Brienne and Lord Royce immediately reached for their swords, but he stopped when he had approached the throne. Sansa stood, but still had to look up to see into his good eye. She couldn’t tell what he was feeling, the scars on his face made it hard for her to read him- he always looked so angry, but he spoke to her gently.

“I don’t want your fucking lands or titles. I have gold, and if I run out there’s plenty to steal. I’m a bloody good fighter though, with nothing left to fight for. I’m not a man to take vows, but if you would have me, I would swear my sword and shield to you, little bird.”

“Lannister bastard,” Sansa heard Brienne huff under her breath, but loud enough for Sandor to hear. Her guard and friend then turned and left the hall.

Sansa could not hide the shocked look on her face. She had expected him to turn down her offer of lands, and her offer to have him made a knight or lord. She thought he might accept gold, or simply tell her he didn’t do any of those things for a reward and request his freedom. She knew it would cause trouble between her and Brienne, but looking at the man who had protected her even when she was a stupid girl, she knew she could never turn down his request. 

“It would be an honor,” she answered, and she couldn’t have spoken more truly. 

Sandor lowered himself onto his knee again, and placed his sword at Sansa’s feet. He looked up to her with his good eye and spoke the words.

“I am yours, Queen Sansa Stark, your sworn sword and shield. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the old Gods and the new.

Sansa looked down at Sandor on his knee, swearing himself to her. There was no man she would trust more to protect and fight for her, and she thanked the Gods in her head that he had lived and made it back to Winterfell. 

As a child, Sansa had watched men swear themselves to her father. She had never expected to say the words herself, but she still knew them by heart. She spoke proudly, and with a small smile.

“And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor. I swear it by the old Gods and the new. Arise,” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do we want an alive Jaime? Planning ahead and want to know if we like Jaime or Tormund better for our favourite knight


	5. A Man of no Vows (Sandor)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a bit of closure for King's Landing in this chapter. It's not extra relevant to this story, but I know some of y'all want to know what happens! Also if you are waiting to see other characters such as Jon, Arya, Tormund, maybe some Gendry and Pod- they're coming soon, just wanting to lay solid foundation before I bring in even more people. I get the feeling that this story will be quite a bit longer than I expected it to be when I started. But have no fear it is NOT a slow burn between our two faves - you'll see what I mean REAL SOON...

Sandor Clegane, a man who loathed titles and vows, approached the throne of Sansa stark, and offered himself to her. She was the only woman, hell the only person he would ever offer his sword and shield. The little Lannister cunt hadn’t given him much of a choice, and even still Sandor sometimes wished he had spit in the boys face and taken the axe of Ilyn Payne as a free man. 

But here he was, when he could have anything a Queen could grant him, asking to be her sworn shield. And there she was, the little bird, blushing and smiling and accepting his offer. 

He placed his greatsword at her feet, still bloody from his fight with Gregor, and Sandor Clegane -one of the fiercest and most fearsome warriors in Westeros- bent his knee for his queen and little bird, Sansa Stark.

He looked up at her as she said her part of the vow. She was smiling, and she was so beautiful. And now he would protect her, and kill anything that meant her harm. No more Littlefinger, no more Bolton, no more pain for the little bird. Not as long as he lived. 

_She asked me once what would make me happy…_

He thought that he would feel happy when he killed his brother, but even as he drove his sword through Gregor’s chest, and pushed the two of them out of the red keep, he didn’t feel the peace and contentment that flowed through him right now. 

“Arise,” Sansa spoke as she finished her vow to him. He reached for his greatsword, and with tired arms he lifted it and himself to his feet. 

Brienne of Tarth had left when he had offered his services to Sansa, and the massive bitch could go fuck herself. She had damn near killed him and if he were stronger and not in the presence of Sansa Stark, he would have started their fight where they left off in the Riverlands, no fucking cliffs for her to push him off this time. 

“How may I be of service to you, little bird?” Sandor asked of the Queen standing just inches away from him. She was a tall woman, but he still towered over her. 

_Did she fucking blush? Gods help me I’m fucking seeing things. She’s just repaying you for helping her family instead of the fucking Lannisters. Don’t you get it into your stupid dog head that Sansa fucking Stark thinks any more of you than she does for any of the other men who serve her… fuck._

Sandor couldn’t help but fixate on her lips as she spoke. 

“I will have my serving girls prepare your room down the hall from my families chambers. I would have you see Maester Wolkan, and then take Brienne’s place guarding my chamber when the maester is done with you. It will be good for her having someone to share her job, I worry she is getting quite tired.”

_Stand. Outside. Her. Fucking. Bedroom._

Sandor cursed himself in his head. He should have accepted the damn lordship or purses of gold she would have offered. Now he would stand outside her chambers while she changed her clothing, while she bathed and slept. And he would try and stop himself from thinking of what she looked like curled up in bed. What she might look like while she was thinking about whatever it was queens busied themselves with. What she might look like naked in her wash basin-

_Fuck._

Sansa had appeared in his dreams almost every night after the Battle of the Blackwater. He dreamed that maybe he had kissed her, and most nights, his sleeping mind tortured him and let him dream that she had liked it, that she had kissed him back. The dreams didn’t come as frequently now, but every now and then he would wake up in a sweat, manhood hard as his sword, wishing that he was on her lips, feeling her breasts, between her thighs-

_Fuck._

“I will have Lord Royce show you to the maester’s chambers,” Sansa’s voice broke him out of his thoughts, and he could swear she was looking at his lips, but convinced himself he was just seeing things. He was half blind, of course he would be seeing things wrong. She turned and walked gracefully out of the room. Sandor couldn’t help but watch how she moved in her grey gown. 

Sandor turned to Lord Royce, and followed him out of the room the opposite way that Sansa had went. He followed the Lord, realizing that the older man wasn’t much shorter than himself. 

_He would have had to fight Brienne for the bloody honor of taking my head if Sansa hadn’t decided to keep me alive._

When they reached the maester’s chambers, Lord Royce knocked loudly on the door, then turned around to face Sandor. He was not wearing armor, but was still a large and intimidating man. Sandor prayed to the Gods that he was not about to draw his sword, it seemed that Sansa greatly trusted the man. It would be a shame to kill him.

“If you so much as touch her without her permission Clegane I will kill you like you did your brother and I don’t give a damn if you bring me with you,” the older man growled at him, then turned back around as the maester opened his door. In a much calmer voice, Lord Royce spoke to the maester.

“Her Grace has requested you assess Clegane here.”

The maester invited Sandor in and had him lay down on a table in the middle of the room. He could hear the footsteps of Sansa’s hand as he left the room. 

As Maester Wolkan rebroke one of his ribs that had not healed properly, Sandor cursed loud enough that he thought all of Winterfell might hear. Even with knitbone root tea, and the maester trying to distract him by telling him what had happened in King’s Landing after Daenerys Targaryen had burned the city to the ground, he cursed and shouted.

_Brave little wolf bitch._

He could believe it though, that little Arya had killed and taken the face of Worm Boy or whatever the dragon Queen had called the leader of her Unsullied. Of course Arya had caught Daenerys about to take her seat on the Iron Throne, and cut her throat wearing the face of the man she trusted the most. 

_She had become cold… But that’s why she’s alive. But what the fuck is she doing sailing beyond the maps? She belongs back in Winterfell with that smith boy she was always looking at._

Jon Snow or Targaryen or whatever the fuck he was called now was offered the throne, but the crow king had passed it up, saying that he belonged at the Wall to mend years on years of bad blood between the people of Westeros and the Free Folk. He had passed the throne to the imp, with Bran the Broken at his side- the eyes and ears of the realm. The council of the Dragonpit would meet every five years, to discuss concerns and hopefully avoid another war. Sansa had demanded independence for the North, and was now the fucking Queen. As she should be. 

Thoughts of Sansa lessened the pain as the maester wrapped Sandor’s chest before he could put his clothes back on. After this shift, he would return to the maester, who would give him potions for sleep and more knitbone for healing of his ribs. He would be fitted for armor soon, and the smith boy who had made his axe before the Battle at Winterfell would craft it. He made a point to tell the smith that Arya had survived and where she was in case no one else had. 

Sandor limped out of the maester’s chambers, still cursing. A short serving girl with an obviously broken and poorly healed nose was waiting for him. She motioned for him to follow her, covering her mouth with her hand. Scars covered her arms and neck, and a large one ran all the way up her face. She looked terrified, but Sandor was used to that. 

_She looks like my bloody brother got to her._

He followed the small woman through halls and up two flights of stairs, grunting every time he put any weight on his left side. They reached a large wooden door, and the girl spoke in almost a whisper.

“Her Grace’s bed chamber.” He saw around her hand when she spoke, half her teeth were broken or missing completely. He cursed in his head and prayed that whoever had done that to such a helpless and small woman was rotting with a sword through his chest.

She slipped away into the darkness, leaving Sandor standing alone in front of Sansa’s bed chamber. He leaned against the stone wall, trying hard not to let sleep take him. 

Sandor tore a small piece of fabric from his tunic and started to clean his brother’s blood off of his sword. He worked slowly and methodically, as to keep himself awake. If anything were to happen to Sansa while he slept outside her door, he wondered which would hurt worse- his own guilt or the blades of Brienne and Yohn Royce.

He didn’t know how long he had been standing guard when he heard it. What the men had told him about on the road, when they talked about Ramsay Bolton. The blood curdling screaming of the Lady of Winterfell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um so protective father figure Yohn is like my favourite thing! Also I have no idea how long bones take to heal so hopefully we can work with some speedy recovery cause I can not wait to get some sexy training Sandor and spying Sansa in here soon... Also I assume they had about a month or so on the road- or approximately that- I read somewhere that's how long it would be by horse from KL to Winterfell. If it's too immersion breaking let me know, I can work on that :)  
> Next Sansa chapter will be out either later tonight (in a couple hours) or tomorrow so very soon! Also I check my inbox religiously so that I can answer your comments as soon as I can- for everyone who comments or gives Kudos and reads this story- THANK YOUUUUU!!! You guys are SERIOUSLY the reason I am still posting this instead of keeping it to myself. You make me brave. I love you.


	6. Stay With Me (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING WARNING WARNING  
> VIOLENCE IN THE FIRST LIL BIT SURROUNDED BY STARS  
> IF YOU DON'T LIKE VIOLENCE, YOU CAN SKIP  
> IT IS A NIGHTMARE ABOUT RAMSAY BOLTON  
> CHOOSING NOT TO READ HAS NO IMPACT ON STORY  
> I AM SORRY I LIKE WRITING SPOOKY YUCKY THINGS  
> WARNING WARNING WARNING

*******************************************************************************************

He entered the room, followed by Theon- __

_ Not Theon, Reek. She must call him Reek.  _

Theon was dead, Ramsay had made her watch as he peeled Theon from his own body, leaving behind the bloody, broken creature he called Reek. Sansa was tied to the four bedposts, laying flat on her stomach, arms and legs spread wide. __

_ Just like The-Reek when Ramsay flays him. At least I’m on a bed and not tied to wooden planks. _

Ramsay asked Reek politely to hand him his flaying knife. Reek obeyed- he and Sansa both knew what happened if they didn’t. Ramsay purred and talked sweetly to Sansa as he tore the skin from the backs of her thighs, licking up the blood that leaked out of her open wounds. He would later have his whore Myranda painfully pour wine and scalding water over them to keep them from festering. He liked her to smell nice.

Sansa bit the pillow to stop herself from screaming but she couldn’t help the flinching of her legs- and she knew that for every drop of blood spilled on his bed she would face more cuts from him. It was an endless game.

The blade sliced behind her knee and Sansa involuntarily jerked her head, letting go of the pillow. She screamed loudly, but not loudly enough to cover up the sound of Theo- 

_ No Sansa you must call him Reek! _

Of Reek quietly crying in the corner of the room. 

Ramsay licked her wounds and bit hard where he had flayed her, and Sansa screamed again.

*******************************************************************************************

“Little bird! Sansa!” Sansa heard his voice and her dream faded. Two big hands were holding her shoulders, lightly shaking her. She opened her eyes to see the face of a man who would never hurt her, and she began to sob. She leaned into Sandor’s big frame, and he held her there, stroking her hair and softly saying her name.

When her sobs finally died down, she felt Sandor move to get up.

“No… Stay until I… Until I fall back asleep,” Sansa spoke through her tears. 

Sandor wrapped his arms tightly around her again, a look of pain and confusion on his face. She knew he must be hurting, she had sent him to see the maester and she had heard him shout curses all the way from her chambers.

Sandor softly lowered her back down on her pillows and she watched as he reached for the furs she had thrown off the bed in her thrashing. He wrapped them around her so that her whole body was covered up save for her head, and he went back to gently stroking her hair. 

“Was it a nightmare little bird?” he asked in the same soft voice he had whispered her name in.

Sansa nodded, and pulled an arm out from under her furs. She reached up to touch his face, on the unburned side first, then she stroked his scars. They felt odd to touch, the skin was both softer and harder than that on the other side of his face. She decided she liked the feel of it under her hand

_ On her neck… On her breast…  _

__ Sansa shut down those thoughts just as they started. She was a lady- a Queen, she shouldn’t be thinking that way about her sworn shield. Sure, he was very handsome, even with the scarring, and his big hands felt so nice running through her hair

_ I wonder what they would feel like further down… _

__ Sansa cursed herself in her head and trailed her hand down to grab his hand that wasn’t stroking her hair.

__ _ Gods I wish he could stay here forever. _

Sansa Stark fell asleep thinking warm thoughts of Sandor Clegane climbing into her bed with her and wrapping her tightly in his big arms, keeping her safe. 

Sansa woke up late in the morning the next day, and immediately sat up, scanning the room for her sworn shield. Instead she found Brienne sitting in one of the chairs by the fire, polishing her armor furiously. She slowly yawned and stretched, then stood and walked over to where her friend was sitting. 

Brienne looked up at Sansa and snapped.

“Should I go fetch your dog, he could take better care of you than I could.”

“Brienne! What would make you think that?” Sansa asked, hurt by her friend's harsh words. She sat down across from Brienne, who started another tirade.

“So he fights for the damn Lannisters and then KIDNAPS your sister and you forgive him. He fights in the war against the dead and as soon as it’s over he just buggers off back to King’s Landing. He has no loyalty to you Sansa, and you praise him for it and he’s a filthy Lannister turncloak and …”

Sansa saw the hurt in Brienne’s eyes through her anger, and let her continue, listening thoughtfully, trying not to take her closest friend’s words to heart. 

Finally, Brienne trailed off, and Sansa saw the tears well up in her blue eyes.

“He would have come back for you,” Brienne cried, tears falling down her face. “He was dragged by Stark men but I would wager my knighthood that he would have come back for you.”

Sansa suddenly understood. When Sandor had left, Jaime Lannister had left as well, and he had taken Brienne’s poor heart with him. 

Sansa stood and rushed over to Brienne, wrapping her arms around the big woman. 

“I’m sorry,” Sansa whispered. “I’m so so sorry.”

She didn’t know how long she spent there, holding Brienne as she cried. She knew there was nothing to be done. Jaime had taken Brienne’s heart and her maidenhead, and left soon after to ride back to his sister. Only time could heal the wounds he had inflicted.

A sense of relief washed over Sansa despite the distress of her friend. Brienne was not upset that Sandor would be assisting her in her guard duties. She had been worried as she left the great hall last night that the two might actually try and kill one another. 

“Sansa, do you think he ever loved me?” She heard her friend ask through sniffles. 

Sansa truly did not know what to say. She had barely spoken a word to Jaime Lannister while he was at Winterfell. She knew all the stories people had told her about him, stories of both heroism and of great dishonor. What Brienne had told her about him was different though. She had told Sansa that he was an honest man who had faced a terrible decision, and was never given an opportunity to explain his choice. 

That didn’t help her answer Brienne’s question though, and without a clue on her own, Sansa thought of what her mother would have said. 

“I do, Brienne.” Sansa spoke from her heart. “ I truly do. But I believe that in the end he was afraid, and he acted as a coward. He chose to go back to what he had always known, because it was easy, and she would take him back. She truly was a terrible woman.”

“I wish I could have been the one to kill her!” Brienne shouted through more sobs.

“Oh Brienne,” Sansa put her arms back around her friend, and spoke gently. “It is done now. She is gone. I know you still need to grieve, and I will be here with you through all of it, I promise.” 

The two women held each other until the fire died down, and there was a knock on Sansa’s door. Brienne immediately went back to polishing her armor, and Sansa wrapped a robe around herself, remembering she was still wearing only a light nightgown. When she was covered, she called for the guest to enter. 

A messenger boy stood outside the door, and he bowed deeply to Sansa before passing her a scroll, telling her Lord Robett Glover had instructed him to give it to her. Sansa thanked the boy, and turned back into her chambers. 

She opened the parchment and read the short letter.

Lady Sansa

With your new position as Queen of the North and Lady of Winterfell, myself and the other Northern lords see it as very important that you marry soon, and that you marry a man of a reputable Northern house. The North needs heirs, and it is your responsibility to produce them. My son Gawen is eligible, and will be dining with you tonight to discuss a potential marriage between House Glover and House Stark. 

Sansa crumpled up the paper and threw it in the fire. She knew she would likely have to marry again, but some part of it hoped that it would be on her own terms, and to someone she chose. She had considered the young Lord Cley Cerwyn, he was a kind and gentle young man who had also suffered at the hands of Ramsay Bolton. Even then, she knew that intimacy would be difficult for her. After Littlefinger and Ramsay, she thought she would never be with a man physically again. As Queen, it appeared that it might be something she had to do for her people. 

Sansa called for her handmaids, who would dress her and style her for tonight. Even if she didn’t intend to marry young Lord Gawen, it would be rude of her not to at least dine with him that evening. The last thing Sansa wanted was to create more trouble with the Northern lords. 

_ I can’t believe that they have all taken it upon themselves to make this decision for me. I am a Queen but they still rule me _

__ Sansa Stark sighed, and prepared herself for a bath and an uncomfortable dinner with Gawen Glover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my violence fest at the top, I will always warn y'all bout those and they will NEVER impact the story. I hope y'all liked the little bit of cuddles and the heart to heart with Brienne. Next chapter will be Sansa again, then likely back to Sandor, or a short chapter for Yohn... We will see what happens :))))))  
> Thanks again for reading, if you don't already know by now that I appreciate and love every single one of you, I do! Y'all inspire me to lurk in bed on my laptop into the late night sipping tea and writing this story.


	7. The Mother and The Maiden (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okie dokie Here y'all go! Will post next chapter later today, and maybe the next next one as well! Feeling extra inspired :)

Sansa Stark descended from her chambers in a modest, royal blue velvet gown. It had been her mother’s, but Sansa had her handmaids alter it to fit her. She had always admired her mother for looking so ladylike and graceful, but she would have traded all of her gowns and jewelry to still have Catelyn Stark alive and at Winterfell.

_ Do this for her, Sansa. Be a proper lady for her. _

Sansa had been the opposite of a proper lady all afternoon, whining to her friends about how the Northern lords saw fit to have her married again, like she was some broodmare. Sansa had no interest in dining with the young Lord Glover, but as it was her duty, she would do it for her people. 

She had sent Sandor to the maester for more herbs and some rest. He would be sleeping in the maester’s wing while he healed and his chambers were being made up for him. She knew he might try to get out and try to get back to swinging that massive sword before he was properly healed. Hopefully Maester Wolkan would be able to keep an eye on him, and make sure he didn’t do anything foolish. Brienne and Sandor would take turns standing guard at her door at night. 

Sansa stopped herself from getting lost in her thoughts of Sandor as she entered the private dining room. Gawen Glover was already sitting at the head of the table, and he gestured for her to sit next to him, rather than at the customary spot across the table. He had already opened a bottle of dornish red, and poured into her cup generously.

“Drink… to an alliance between two strong Northern Houses” Gawen motioned to her cup. Sansa sat, and took a small sip of the strong wine. She almost coughed at the taste, and placed her cup back down.

Food was served, a large duck surrounded by small springtime vegetables, grown in the towns surrounding Winterfell. Sansa ate lightly, and drank even less. It would not be proper of a Queen to get too deep in her cups at a private dinner. 

Gawen talked and talked; about his castle, his lands and the great knights that were training at his home.

_ His father’s castle, lands, knights… _

__ “Have you done any training with the sword yourself? I see you are not a ser,” Sansa blurted out as Gawen bragged.

_ Sansa! How could you say that!? You haven’t even had much to drink! A half cup of wine would not lower your inhibitions like that- get it together! _

__ Sansa scolded herself in her head, but she was brought out of it as Gawen scowled, and then lifted his cup to make another half hearted toast. She drained her cup, and sat back in her chair. She relaxed and listened to the young Lord as he boasted. She would speak to her hand the next day and ask him if there was a chance to court other men before she was forced into marriage with this one.

Sansa leaned further back into her chair, and the words of Gawen Glover started to blend together. She felt very tired, and struggled to keep her eyes open. 

__ _ Remember your posture!  _

__ Sansa heard her Lady mother scold in her head, and she jerked back up to sitting. 

“I do apologize my Lord, but I have become quite tired. I must retire to my chambers now, thank you for your company. This evening has been lovely.” Sansa stood up, feeling weak in her knees. 

“Not so soon, my Lady,” Gawen insisted, standing up and wrapping an arm around her. She tried with limited strength to step away, but found that her body reacted slowly and sloppily. “I paid that messenger good money to deliver my letter to you, and say it was from my father. I intend to have you tonight, of course you won’t remember this, or anything that happens this evening. You will wake in my chambers in the morning after a lovely dinner, and your honor will demand that we wed. Simple as that. I hardly need to waste my time courting a woman who has already been broken in. It is lucky I would consider offering my hand.” 

He hoisted Sansa’s limp body over his shoulder, and carried her out of the room. 

_ He’s poisoned me… I must find… I must find the maester. He will know what to- _

__ Unconsciousness took Sansa, and she stopped what little struggles she was managing. She fell into blackness, and her senses all went quiet. 

“Seven bloody hells, you filthy cunt!” Sansa was woken by his shout, then felt a pain in her side as her body hit the floor. She looked up to see Sandor standing over her, red in the face with anger. Gawen Glover was on the floor beside her, knocked unconscious by her sworn shield’s fist. 

Three guards ran into the hall, alerted by Sandor’s cursing. 

“Bring this fucker to the dungeons,” Sandor growled, giving Gawen’s body a kick. “And someone find the bloody Tarth woman.” The guards scurried, two dragging the unconscious Lord from the hall. The other rushed off the other way, presumably to find Brienne. 

Sansa flickered her eyes open, and found herself looking up into the face of Sandor Clegane. Knowing that she was safe, she let her eyes close again. 


	8. The Knight that Wasn't a Knight (Sandor)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. What y'all have been waiting for (I think)

Sandor lifted Sansa’s limp body with ease, and began the long walk back to her chambers. If it weren’t for the little bird in his arms, he would have still been in the hall, beating that Glover Lord to death and beyond. 

_Disgusting fucker. I would fucking rip him apart, limb from limb… If they don’t take his head, I’ll rip it off myself…_

The little bird looked up at him and her face seemed to relax, then her eyes fluttered back shut. His left side was in searing pain, but he would not let her out of his sight until she was safe in her own chambers with Brienne of Tarth armed at her door. He had been due for another dose of whatever foul tasting tea the maester was brewing up for him when he had left the maester’s wing to make sure Brienne had taken her place at Sansa’s door. He had not expected to run into the little Glover cunt, dragging an unconscious Sansa who knows where to do-

_Seven fucking hells... What would he have done to her if I hadn’t found them… I swear I’ll fucking beat him until he is almost dead… Let him heal up a bit and then finish the job._

Sandor approached the first flight of stairs. He adjusted his grip on Sansa, then slowly took the first step. By the time he reached the top, his side was burning and he was cursing under his breath. One more to go, and he could get the little bird safely into her bed, and he could go back to his rest.

_Not that I would get any sleep tonight anyway. Not with that cunt still alive._

After the second flight of stairs, Sandor was almost stumbling because of the pain. He pushed through it, desperate to get Sansa to her own chambers. He shoved the door open with his shoulder, and dropped her gently onto her bed. Not gently enough, because her eyes fluttered back open, resting on his face. Her face broke into a small smile and her face flushed. 

“Sandor… My knight…” she whispered, and reached up to touch his face. It burned him where she touched, but not like fire. It was soft, and sweet, and everything a man like him didn’t deserve. Men who looked like him were not touched so softly. Men who had done such horrible things were not spoken to so gently.

Sansa’s hand slid down his face, her fingers brushed over his neck, and she held onto his shoulder. She used his weight to pull herself up to a sitting position, and tangled her other hand in his hair. And then she was kissing him, warm and wet and tasting of wine. Her hand tightened in his hair, and she leaned her body into him. Her lips were so damn soft and she moved eagerly towards him. 

All Sandor wanted was to kiss her back; to put his arms around her and drink her up. Her smell… How her pretty pink lips tasted… 

_She’s drunk… and he gave her herbs to make her more pliable…_

Before he had to force himself to pull away from her, her grip slackened and Sansa slumped back down onto her bed. Sandor tossed a couple furs over her, and poured a cup of water to leave at her bedside, in case she woke up thirsty. He moved himself into one of the chairs by her fire, and waited for Brienne. 

_She kissed me. Sansa bloody Stark kissed me. Herbs or wine must have fucked with her head. The Queen of the bloody North would never kiss an old dog like me..._

He heard the knock on the door, and stood to open it. It was likely Brienne, but he’d be damn sure it was no one other than the she-knight before he left Sansa. 

“Clegane,” the large woman almost spat at him as she entered. Brienne took her place in the chair opposite him. Brienne looked across the room, and saw Sansa in her bed, furs covering her. 

“What did he do to her?” Sansa’s guard asked, in a softer tone this time. “I should have been standing outside that door. She told me she would be fine- that… that she did not intend to let things go further than simply dining together… I never would have thought…” She looked close to tears, and Sandor realized how much Brienne cared for her Queen. 

“He put bloody herbs in her wine so she would sleep and he could fuck her.” Brienne cringed at the word. “If it were up to me I wouldn’t have let him live, that little cunt. Would’ve hit him ‘til his guts were spilling out and his head was crushed.” Sandor tried to comfort the woman with empty threats of violence. Sandor thought of what would happen to Gawen. He would likely die by the swing of Yohn Royce's greatsword.

_Too merciful a death for what he did to her… What he was planning to do…_

Sickness came over him as he thought about what could have happened. He swallowed and stood up, wanting to go back to his bed now that he knew Sansa would be safe. 

“Please go to the Lord’s chambers; tell Lord Royce what has happened before you retire for the night,” Brienne turned to him as he was leaving the room. “He’ll be sleeping but I know him- he would want to know.”

“Aye,” Sandor grunted as he left, closing the door behind him. After Sansa had kissed him, his body had been in so much shock he had forgotten the pain in his side. It had returned now, and he slowly made his way further down the hall, and pushed the door of the Lord’s bedchamber open. As Brienne had predicted, Yohn Royce was asleep in bed, but jerked awake and reached for his sword as he heard the door open. When he saw that it was just Sandor at the door, he lowered his sword, but concern covered his face. 

“What is it, Clegane?” The Lord barked, hanging his sword back on its rack and throwing a robe on over his breeches. 

Sandor explained between curses and threats what the Glover boy had done to Sansa. Royce’s face changed from concerned to enraged, and Sandor saw his fist clenching. Like Brienne, he could tell that this man deeply cared about Sansa. 

“Little bastard… I’ll have his and his father’s head rolling on the morrow.” Relief washed over Sandor, knowing that the boy would die and never touch the little bird again. Lord Royce dismissed him, but before he could leave the room, he heard the man speak, almost in a whisper.

“Thank you Sandor. For keeping her safe. She is a smart woman, and as usual she made the right decision to trust you.” 

Sandor shut the door gently behind him, and returned to the maester’s wing. By the time he made it back to his bed, he felt like his entire body was ablaze, his damned rib the source of the flames. He lay back and sleep took him, and Sandor dreamed again of burning again. The flames touched and tickled him, but he felt no pain. All he could see was Sansa’s beautiful auburn hair, and suddenly death by fire seemed like the sweetest way to die. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sweet justice is served from Yohn POV chapter- will post it real soon!  
> Thanks for sticking with!


	9. The Hand (Yohn)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeti this one is for you I hope you love it!

Yohn Royce was jerked awake from a peaceful sleep when he heard the door to his bedchamber open. 

He was sleeping in the Lord’s chambers, where Ned and Catelyn Stark once would have slept. At first he refused the honor, until he put together that it was not so much of an honor, but Sansa not wanting to sleep in the room she had run into as a scared child. The place she went to escape the japes and teasings of her other siblings, back when they were children, and Robb and Rickon were still alive. He accepted Sansa’s offer with grace upon that realization. 

Without even thinking, Yohn reached for the sword he left hanging beside his bed, easy to grab in case he needed it quickly, like tonight. As he reached to arm himself, he looked at the door to find the Hound standing there, leaning heavily on his right side.

_Her sworn shield… And he looks angry- what happened to her!? Is Sansa alright?_

Yohn realized that he had spoken some of his thoughts out loud, and turned to the big warrior for an answer. 

“She dined with the little Glover bastard Gawen,” the Hound started to speak, barely more than a growl. He was furious, and Yohn prayed to both the old and new Gods that Clegane was not here to tell him of his Queen’s death. 

“He gave her wine, but he put bloody herbs in it that would make her sleep. I was leaving the maester’s chambers when I saw the fucker with Sansa slung over his cunt shoulder, carrying her to his room presumably to…” Clegane trailed off, hands clenched into fists and anger seething in every word he spoke. He would not doubt that the Hound was even more enraged than he was, by the way he was speaking and holding himself so tensely. 

_He cares for her._

Any doubts that Yohn had about Sansa’s safety around Sandor Clegane were erased when he saw how glossy the big man’s good eye was. He knew the Hound would not cry, but Yohn could tell he was truly upset that the young Lord had tried to hurt Sansa. 

_He was alone when he found them… He could easily have raped Sansa and placed the blame on the Glover boy. But he had carried her to her own chambers, and left her only when Brienne was there to take his place. Would my own guards be so noble?_

Yohn reassured Sandor that the Glovers would be dealt with on the morrow, and dismissed him. He had much to think about, and much to do if there was to be a trial and execution the next day. He thanked the Gods that Sandor had thought to let him know rather than making him find out from some guard who had seen it, or after beating the little Lord to death himself. 

He thanked Sandor Clegane under his breath, and then walked to his desk, where he pulled out parchment and ink. He addressed the Lords of the northern houses that were not gathered at Winterfell, and wrote about what Sandor had just told him. 

_Why in the seven hells would Sansa agree to dine with that boy?_

Yohn stood up and paced his room, wondering how Lord Glover had convinced Sansa to share dinner with his son. The Starks and Glovers already had a strained relationship after the Battle against the Boltons, and again at the Battle of Winterfell. It would be better for the North for Sansa to marry the Lord of a stronger and more loyal house. 

He found himself pacing the hallway outside his bedroom, when he heard muffled sobs coming from Sansa’s chamber. He pushed the door slightly, as to check on the Queen, only to find Brienne being the one crying. She sat by the fire, sword ready to grab on the table next to her. He edged his way into the room, and Brienne wiped her face with a handkerchief as he approached her. 

“I should have been in the room, or at least at the door… This is my fault…” Brienne trailed off. 

Yohn put a hand on her arm, meaning to comfort her. He reassured her that she had not done her Queen wrong, as long as Sansa insisted that she was fine without guard, Brienne should not have disobeyed. Sansa would not remain unguarded after this, however. 

“Why did she do it, Brienne, why would she even bother spending an evening with him? She knows that a marriage alliance between House Stark and Glover would serve little purpose,” He asked Brienne, hoping she might have some insight. 

“The letter…” Brienne spoke, anger seeping into her voice. “Lord Glover and all the other Northern Lords agreed that Sansa must be married again so she can produce heirs to Winterfell. Glover sent the letter to her this morning by a messenger, why he wouldn’t just find her and tell her himself is beyond me. They think they can tell her what do now even when she is their queen!” Brinne huffed, and slumped down in her chair. 

Yohn knew that Brienne’s father had tried to force her to marry many times, and that she didn’t want that life for Sansa. Especially after what Sansa had been through in her last marriage. 

_Raped and tortured by her own husband. And these pompous Northern fuckers think they can tell her to do it again._

He remembered a conversation shared between himself and Lady Ryswell. The Lady had spoke briefly at her shock when she heard of Sansa’s marriage to Ramsay, and she spoke of how if she were in the Queen’s position, she would be perfectly content never to marry again. 

Yohn had even expected that a day would come, and Sansa would announce that she would not take a husband. If Neither Arya or Bran produced heirs, she, with the help of the council of the Dragonpit would select a Northern house to rule when she was too old. 

Yohn had grown up in a noble house, was trained as a tourney knight, and married to his beautiful, sweet wife Jane. He had never once hurt his wife, and the two had always been happy. They had learned early into their marriage to love one another. How could he, or any of these other Lords who had never experienced the abuse that the Queen had- tell her what she must do.

He bid a good night to Brienne, looked over at Sansa who was sleeping peacefully in her own bed, and walked back to his own chambers. To the notes he had written to the houses who were not present at winterfell, he added a question. When they were finished, Yohn took out a fresh parchment, and started to write.

Gawen Glover was on his knees in chains on the floor of the great hall when Yohn Royce entered. His parents stood behind him; mother crying into a handkerchief, father seething with anger. Many of the other Lords and Ladies had come to watch, but Yohn would be the one to make the judgement, and swing the sword if need be.

Yohn ordered for silence, and all of the spectators fell quiet. Gawen’s sniffles could still be heard, although they were raspy and loud- the Hound had broken the boy’s nose.

_Good on him, I would have done the same damn thing. Hell I don’t know how the man didn’t kill this bastard._

Thoughts of marching down to the dungeon and taking the boy’s head without trial had kept Yohn awake all night. The only thing that stopped him was the boy’s father. Yohn had lost two sons himself, and would have wished a fair, just trial for both of them.

“Lord Gawen,” Yohn’s voice boomed out, filling the hall. “You put herbs in the Queen’s wine, with the intention of dishonoring her while she slept. Do you deny it?”

The small man whimpered, and looked up- staring Yohn in the face. His face showed fear, but no remorse. Without even hearing the boy’s words, Yohn knew that today he would swing his greatsword down through his neck. Had the boy looked remorseful, he might have taken pity and sent him to the Wall, although he knew that Jon Snow might not be as merciful if he knew why the boy was sent. 

“Why bother courting her…” Gawen sniffled and spit, hatred in his eyes. “When she had already been fucked. She’s no maiden anymore, married twice. I bet she’s had the imp’s cock, and we all know she had Ramsa-”  
“Silence!” Yohn roared, and the boy shut up. The crowd looked shocked, even the boy’s father, who kept his mouth shut.

_Smart man._

“I’ve heard enough from you boy. Guards, take him to the yard.” Yohn turned to the boy’s father, ignoring his struggles as the guards dragged him out of the hall. “You, Robett Glover… I will ask now. Who else have you spoken to that would demand Sansa be married.”

Lord Robett looked around, visibly confused. Lord Cerwyn looked disgusted, and Lady Ryswell gasped. Towards the back of the hall, he saw a boy dressed in peasant clothes pushing through the crowd, trying to leave the hall. Yohn shouted again, ordering that the boy be stopped, and brought to the front of the room.

“He paid me,” the boy started to cry. He could not have been older that fourteen. “Lord Gawen paid me to give ‘er the letter and tell her it was from his father. I didn’t know he’d do nothin’ like this. I swear on the Gods I didn’t know…” The boy was crying. Lord Robett looked relieved. 

Yohn had sent his own son to the wall, but Waymar had been older. This boy was still a child, pleading in front of him for his life.

“Your name, boy,” Yohn ordered. The poor boy looked terrified, but he had done a terrible thing. If Yohn Royce could not deliver justice when he needed to, men like Gawen Glover would walk free. 

“Lukas, m’lord.” The boy almost whispered. 

“Lukas, you could have brought great dishonor on your Queen. She could have been badly hurt because of your lie. I hope Gawen paid you well, but you will have no need for gold at Castle Black. When the Lord Commander comes to Winterfell in a fortnight, you will leave with him. Until then, you will stay in a cell and think on what you have done.” Yohn turned and addressed the crowd. “All except the Lords and Ladies of Northern houses are dismissed. 

The spectators shuffled out, leaving a smaller group in the hall. Yohn pulled out the parchment from last night, and addressed the Lords and Ladies of the North.

“Sansa Stark, your Queen, has married not once, but twice for duty. Tyrion Lannister was kind to her, but you all know that Ramsay Bolton was not. You have been in Winterfell long enough to hear her screams at night. That man hurt her badly and she still suffers. She would have married that man, who tried to rape her while she slept, because of her love for you. She puts her duty first, because she cares for the North. I ask today that you show her you love her, that you care for her, by accepting her decision not to marry again if she chooses not to.” He thought of Sandor Clegane, and his fury as he explained what had almost happened to Sansa. “Or, if she chooses to marry for love, rather than alliance. If you will support Queen Sansa in this, I ask that you say aye and sign this letter before you depart from Winterfell."

Before Yohn could even catch a breath, he heard Lord Cley Cerwyn shout out in agreement, shortly followed by Lady Ryswell. A few seconds passed, then more Lords and Ladies joined in. Robett Glover was the last to speak, and he gruffly agreed over the sound of his crying wife. Other than those who were not present, who Yohn had asked by letter, he had the support of everyone in the hall. They all signed his letter as they passed by him, and Yohn Royce could not be more proud of the North and its people.

As Yohn swung his greatsword down through the neck of Gawen Glover, he looked up to see Sansa Stark watching from the battlements, Brienne standing right behind her. Yohn smiled at Sansa, knowing that she would soon find out how much her people loved her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I know we stray further and further from GRRM's world with each chapter- Lords and Ladies in GRRM's Westeros might not have been as progressive as they are in this story. HOWEVER- all I want is happy Sansan so that's what we get in and7's North :D  
> So.... Jon is coming up soon and y'all can BET YOUR BUTTS I'm stoked as heck to bring him and Tormund into my story. I might invent a wildling girl for Jon to get some smoochies with or I might bring back Val... What do y'all think? I love hearing your opinions and letting you influence this story. It's for all of us now, really.


	10. The Lady of Winterfell (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The nightmare this time is tame compared to the last one but I still put it in stars just in case.

It had been almost ten days since Sansa dined with Gawen. She had spent much of her time in bed, only responding to urgent matters. Lord Royce had taken over all other court matters while she healed mentally and physically, including the trial and execution of Gawen Glover. She was deeply troubled by what a man of the North might have done to her, but her body was not in pain. Not except for mild bruising on her left side which had hit the stone floor hard when Gawen had dropped her. 

_ When Sandor had saved her. _

__ Sansa had been trying to keep him off her mind. She had not seen him since that night, he was resting on the orders of the maester. She was not supposed to remember anything from that night, but she remembered the hot feel of his lips on hers. The gentle feel of his beard on her cheek.

_ I want him.  _

__ Sansa had dreamed about her sworn shield that night and every night after. She dreamed that he had joined her in his bed, and wrapped his strong arms around her. His hands had rubbed up and down her side, just grazing her breast. Fingers brushing over her sensitive nipples. He had pulled her shift over her head, and took her breasts in his hands, rolling her nipples between his fingers and thumbs. Kissed her neck, and rolled her onto her back, and moved his mouth slowly down, replacing one of his hands on her breast.

_ Sansa!  _

__ Sansa stood up from her desk, stopping her thoughts from going further. She woke up from these dreams sticky with sweat and wet between her thighs. She had tried to relieve the pressure with her hand but found she could not find the release her body craved.

She had heard women say that the marriage bed could be good, even pleasurable for them. After Tyrion Lannister had spared her maidenhead, she had just assumed that it would be horrible. After Ramsay, she had been sure of it. 

_ I bet Sandor would at least be gentle… _

__ Sansa had tried to keep her thoughts off her sworn shield, but she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t believe that she had kissed him- and for a moment he had kissed her back. 

_ He must be so angry with me… He must think I am using him now that he made the vow. He should be able to lie with whoever he pleases, not be forced into it by his own vow. Why would he want a woman already broken in? At least a whore is trained for it… _

__ She hadn’t seen him since that night, and out of embarrassment, she had not tried to seek him out- to apologize for her behaviour. She had not heard from him either, only a message from Maester Wolkan that he would be ready to alternate guard duty with Brienne again in three nights.

_ Three nights ago… _

Sansa began to panic all over again at the thought that Sandor might be standing outside her door in a few hours. She worried that she might have nightmares again, and he would have to wake her. Or if he heard her screams, and let them happen, not wanting to be close to her again. 

__ _ He would never do that though… He would protect me to his last breath, no matter what it cost him… _

__ She fretted about what to wear to bed, in case he should see her. A pile of nightgowns and light shifts lay on her bed, all not good enough. None covered enough of her and at the same time they all bared to much. Sansa settled for a long gown that left her arms bare, but covered her legs.

__ _ This covers the worst of the scars… _

__ Without help from her handmaids, Sansa was left to let her hair down instead of her typical braids. She knew how to braid her own hair, but it always seemed to look messier when she did it herself. She didn’t know why she cared so much how she looked for her sworn shield, especially because he might not even enter her chambers and see her. Nevertheless, she sat at her mirror and tried to make herself look as beautiful and maidenly as she could by herself. 

As the fire died down, Sansa grew tired, and after putting all her rejected clothes back in her wardrobe, she retreated to her bed. As an extra measure to prevent herself from having nightmares, she pulled Sandor’s old Kingsguard cloak out of the chest at the foot of her bed and placed it on top of her furs- one extra layer of protection. 

Feeling confident in herself, and ready to brave her way through the night, Sansa lay down and let sleep take her.

*******************************************************************************************

King Joffrey sat upon the Iron Throne, eyes of ice blue looking right through her into her soul. He ordered Ser Meryn Trant to strip her of her gown, and the knight happily obliged, tearing the fabric off her. 

__ Sansa cried and pleaded, only to be answered with laughs from the King and all of his men.

_ All except the Hound.  _

__ Sandor Clegane stood beside the boy King, rage in his eyes. Sansa could never tell if it was because of what Joffrey was doing, or if the man was just always truly angry. She stopped thinking about the King’s dog when she felt the hard blow of Ser Meryn’s sword hit her across the back. Sansa was knocked down to her hands and knees, with only her smallclothes protecting her modesty. She tried to be strong but tears fell down her face as Ser Meryn beat her. 

The blunt side of his sword to her chest brought a scream to her lips, and Joffrey laughed again.

*******************************************************************************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all know what's coming soon.


	11. The Sweetest Thing (Sandor)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

After what seemed like an eternity of rest, Sandor could walk without pain. He still walked slowly and carefully, as not to injure himself again, but he felt stronger. He would ask the maester the next day if he could get back to training. Tonight he would stand outside Sansa’s door. 

Sandor had been unable to think of anything but Sansa Stark since the last night he saw her. How she had touched his awful, ugly face with such sweetness. How she had leaned into him, pressing her chest to his. How her hands tangled in his hair, pulling gently. 

He had taken himself in his hand many times when the maester was not in the room, thinking of her sweet lips.

_On his own lips… On his chest, his cock… Fuck Sandor, get it together… She doesn’t want an ugly old dog like you._

Sandor tried to shut his thoughts of her down. What use would he be defending her if his mind was where it was. He made his way to her chambers and took his place outside her door. He heard shuffling around in her room and heard her wardrobe open and shut. Sandor pictured her naked.

_Her long auburn hair… Would she have that between her legs too? Fuck... What would she look like there… Would it be pretty and pink like her lips?_

Sandor knew that it would be wrong to take himself in hand out here, also he was in a heavy tunic and he had a hand on the hilt of his greatsword. Ready to fight and protect his little bird. 

He had been standing there for hours when he heard Sansa scream again. It was like his heart was being torn from his body, the sound of it. He could make out the names of Joffrey and… Ser? 

_Meryn fucking Trant. He enjoyed it as much if not more than fucking Joffrey._

Sandor had been forced to watch as Joffrey would have his men beat little Sansa. He had japed through anger when asked that he might kill the poor girl if he had taken his greatsword to her tiny frame. 

_I wish I could have killed the little fucker Joffrey. He still tortures her in her sleep now…_

Sandor burst into Sansa’s chambers, drawing his sword even though he knew he wouldn’t need it. If he could slay the men who had tortured her with steel, he would. He knew of no way to kill their memories beyond their graves. How to stop her from seeing them in her dreams.

He dropped his sword and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her from her sleep. She had been tossing around in the bed, and out of the corner of his eye he caught a familiar flash of white. He ignored it, focusing on waking Sansa. He looked at her as he shook her shoulders, and saw deep scars on her collar bones, running down to where her nightgown concealed. The scars littered her upper arms as well. Sandor fought off waves of anger as he pictured Ramsay cutting her beautiful skin. 

Sansa’s screams quieted, and her eyes fluttered open. She looked afraid, then… happy? She stared into his eyes, and it felt like she was drinking him right up. She looked so bloody beautiful and he tried but just couldn’t pull away. He was leaned down over her and she was pulling herself up towards him. 

“Sandor… Stay here with me… I feel safe in your arms, please… please just stay,” Sansa whimpered, looking as if she was still half asleep. 

_Fuck…_

Sandor would do bloody anything for this woman, and until she had said that he thought standing outside her door was hard. 

_Try looking at her while she lays there… Or holding her while she sleeps…_

He knew no matter how much his body screamed and ached for it, he would never touch her in the way he wanted to. He would never forgive himself- not that he would need to- Brienne or Royce would have him killed before he could even try. 

“Yes, little bird,” Sandor told her, and gently let go of her shoulders, moving himself around the bed. He took a seat on the other side, and Sansa leapt into his arms. She laid her head in his lap and stared up at him again. 

_Gods, she is beautiful._

He ran his hands through her hair, and he whispered to her over and over that she was safe, and that no fucker would even think to hurt her again or he would kill them, and brutally. Sansa, in her half asleep state, made happy little yawns and Sansa noises, and he kept on talking to her gently, with soft reassurances and violent threats to those who might harm her. 

As he described a particularly awful way that he might kill Ramsay Bolton if he were still alive, Sansa’s eyes shot open. She looked into his eyes for a moment, then sat up from where she was resting on him and kissed him again. Her arms found their way around him and he could feel her fingers on his back. She kissed and lightly licked his lips, and Sandor Clegane found himself completely stunned. 

_She’s not in her cups… I can’t taste a drop of wine on her… Sansa fucking Stark is kissing me. Not drunk, no herbs. For whatever reason, this woman wants me… An ugly old dog…_

Sansa’s tongue slid between his lips and he stopped thinking. He tangled one hand in her beautiful long hair, and brought the other to her tiny waist. Her arms that encircled him pulled him closer, and he met her tongue with his own. She tasted so fucking sweet- like fire and heaven and-

A small moan escaped Sansa’s lips, and Sandor lost control of himself. With his hand on her waist, he lay her down on her furs and without putting any of his weight on her, he moved on top. He trailed his lips down her face, onto her throat, desperate to hear her make that sweet noise again. And she did. She did when he brushed over her her chest with his big and calloused hands. She did when he slid her nightgown down over her glorious small and somehow just perfect breasts. She did when he took a nipple between thumb and finger, and louder when he put his mouth over the other. She was the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on, and all he wanted was to worship her body thoroughly, not missing a single place. 

As Sandor pulled her nightgown lower, meaning to slide it down over her hips, Sansa grabbed it, covering her stomach. 

“You don’t have to look at me,” she whispered, sadness flowing into her expression. “I know it’s hideous.” Sandor shook his head, and gestured to his own face as he spoke to her firmly. 

“This,” he touched his own face. “This is hideous. Sansa Stark you are not hideous. You are the most beautiful woman in the seven Kingdoms and beyond. You are the Maiden if she were a living woman. Let me prove it to you.” He was almost growling by the time he finished, and Sansa nodded. 

Sandor brought his lips back to her breast, and pulled her nightgown down towards her hips. 

_By the Gods…_

Sansa’s stomach was covered in scars. He could tell the difference between those from Meryn’s sword, those from the sharp blade of the Bolton bastard, and… Were those teeth marks around her breasts and on her hip bones?

He brought his focus back to the half naked woman in front of him, who was making soft noises of pleasure as he tongued her nipple. He ran a hand down her side, and rested it on her waist, feeling the bumps of more scarred skin. Wanting to erase all the pain, he brought his lips down gently, and traced over every scar he could see, kissing gently. When he reached the lowest ones, he tugged on her nightgown, and Sansa lifted her hips so he could pull it off her. 

_She wants this… The Queen of the bloody North wants the Hound in her bed._

As soon as the nightgown was down and tossed to the corner of the room, Sandor turned and looked back at Sansa Stark. He saw her soft mound of auburn hair, and reached to touch it. Sansa’s body tensed, and he pulled his hand away. 

“I want to see your face Sandor…” Sansa whispered so sweetly. “I want to know it’s you touching me.”

_She wants to see my ugly scarred face. I must be fucking dead. My brother must have fucking killed me, and I must be dead. Not even a whore wants to see this…_

It didn’t matter though. Sandor would walk through fire until his skin melted off his bones for this woman. If she wanted to look at him, she would. He watched her face as he reached down again, between her thighs. She was hot and wet and he almost spilled in his own clothes like a greenboy. Sansa sighed and he slid his fingers over her warm cunt. 

Sansa threw her head back and gasped as his finger found a little nub. He adjusted his hand so that his thumb would circle it and he slid a finger inside her. She moaned again and Sandor knew he would do anything to keep her making that sound. She closed her eyes and rolled her head to the side as he continued with his hand, and Sandor brought his lips back down to where they had been blocked by her nightgown.

He kissed her lower, over her beautiful red hair, and then right on her sweet cunt.

_Fuck… She tastes even better here…_

Sandor kissed her outer lips, then slid his tongue over where he had been touching her. When he reached that little nub, Sansa cried out his name. Sandor made a silent vow to himself to give her this pleasure every time she wanted. He would do anything to hear his name on her lips like that. 

He slid a second finger into her cunt and brought his mouth back to that special place that made Sansa cry his name with such reverence. Her body bucked and shook with pleasure, and her little noises became louder. He used his free hand to grab her breast, tugging gently on her nipple like he had done before. 

Sansa Stark screamed his name as she came, and Sandor knew that he belonged entirely to her. He withdrew his fingers, and lifted his face, licking the taste of her from his own lips. He would kill to taste her again, she was better than the finest wine in the seven bloody Kingdoms. 

Sansa opened her eyes and smiled softly at him, and he brought his lips back to hers. He was not a man of words, so he would have to use his mouth in other ways to show her how she completely owned him. Before he could bring his mouth back down to please her again, she reached to his cock, fumbling over the thick fabric of his tunic. He stood up and tore it off as fast as he could, minding that the thing stayed intact. He wondered what people might think seeing him leave her chambers with torn clothing. 

Leaving only his breeches on, he returned to the bed. He would allow Sansa to set the pace- he never wanted to force her into anything that she didn’t want. She looked up at his face, then down his body, taking in his massive figure. She reached for his cock, and rubbed it up and down over the thin fabric. 

_Seven bloody hells…_

Sandor had laid with women before. He had whores, and even a couple willing serving girls over the years. Girls who thought they might have something to gain by sharing their bed with the prince’s dog. None had ever looked upon his face though, and none had ever made him feel pleasure quite this strong. 

Sansa reached for his breeches, and pulled them down over his cock. Sandor tangled his hand in her hair. She wrapped her soft hand around him and slid it up and down his shaft- once, twice, and he spilled into her hand, groaning her name as he found his release in her touch. Sandor vowed that if she ever invited him into her bed again, he would make it last as long as she could handle it. He would show her that what happened between a Lord and his Lady could be better than what she knew. 

After himself and Sansa had both got up and cleaned themselves off, they returned to bed. He would stay with her as long as she would let him. Sansa climbed under her furs and motioned for him to lay beside her. He put his arms around her small body, and Sandor fell asleep with Sansa Stark, the Queen of the North wrapped up in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all waited too long for this. I hope y'all enjoy. There will be more soon.
> 
> I've never written anything ~dIrTy~ like this before, ESPECIALLY from a male POV (I'm a gal if y'all hadn't guessed) so please be gentle.
> 
> Lots of love for every single reader. Yes, I mean you :)


	12. The Queensguard (Brienne)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written Brienne before so I hope I did her justice. Brienne and Tormund 5ever <3

This was the third night that Brienne heard soft moans coming from Sansa’s bedchamber. She knew that her Lady had been tender with the former Lannister guard, but she had not expected to hear his name on her lips in the late hours of the night. Or to see the fearsome warrior leave the Lady’s chambers in the morning of his shifts looking almost happy. 

In her own bed, Brienne’s thoughts drifted to her night with Jaime. He had been so tender, but she knew that even if he had meant it, his true love would always be his sister.

_I would have killed her for you…_

But Brienne knew that killing Cersei Lannister would not have brought Jaime closer to her. Cersei had twisted herself into his very soul, and even dead she would still keep a tight hold on him. 

Still thinking of that night her and Jaime spent together, Brienne’s hand drifted beneath her furs, down to her place that had started to ache hearing the noises coming from Sansa. She touched herself softly, remembering how Jaime had done it-

_With his hands… His tongue…_

As Brienne reached her peak, she stopped seeing the face of Jaime Lannister. She closed her eyes and pictured large, rough hands running over her breasts, down over her hips. A bearded face scratching against her skin, lips running over her breasts, then lower, over her belly, her mound of blonde hair. Brienne came apart with the thought of looking up into the harsh face of the red haired wildling as he pushed himself into her, making her cry out with pleasure. 

_Damn that man… Invading my most private moments…_

Ever since he had left to go back to the Wall, Brienne found herself thinking of Tormund every now and then. He was no southern man for sure, but there was something to be said for his ferocity, and the way he would speak his truth no matter what. She often found herself thinking that maybe he wasn’t the savage man he looked at heart. He had been forward with her, something no other man had done with her, at least not seriously.

_He is very handsome, in his own rugged way… And he’s tall- taller than me even…_

Sansa cried out the name of her sworn shield, and Brienne thought to herself, if Sansa Stark can find pleasure in this after everything that has happened to her, surely she herself could be brave and push through her pain over Jaime. She vowed to herself to apologize to Sandor for her rudeness. If he made her Lady happy, Brienne would put aside his past deeds, just like Sansa had. Maybe the two would even find themselves friends-

_Friends who try and kill each other… At least sparring with the man would keep me sharp with my sword._

Brienne thought of the time she did fight with Sandor Clegane. Even injured and festering the man had been strong, not to mention frightening to look at. He likely would have killed her if she hadn’t used the terrain to her advantage. Maybe one day she would find out who fought better- if the man ever lay a hand on Sansa they would certainly find themselves with crossed swords again. Brienne drifted off slowly, praying to the Gods that she would never need to raise her blade against the man who was currently making her Lady so happy.

Brienne half listened as Sansa dressed and fussed over the guests on their way to the castle, lost in her own thoughts. 

_Did I really dream of Tormund last night? Why must that man bother me even in my sleep?_

Brienne had dreamed of the night after the Battle at Winterfell, when all of the remaining living were gathered in the main hall. Instead of Jaime though, Tormund had come to her. She had protested at first but when the big man tossed her over his shoulder and carried her out of the hall, she couldn’t help but be impressed by his size and strength. Some of the crowd that saw them cheered, but Brienne didn’t care. 

She dreamed that she had went with Tormund that night, who hadn’t been gentle, but hadn’t needed to be. The things he did with his hands and his mouth had her well prepared for when he broke through her maidenhead with a long, thick cock. 

“... The large one with red hair! He eats enough for three men, what am I to do with that?” Sansa’s words shook Brienne out of her dream. She was now worrying over how much food she would have to bring in to Winterfell from outside villages. 

_Is Tormund coming back here? By the Seven, what if he sees me? What if he still wants me in his bed? How could I turn him down after that dream? He was so good…_

“Brienne?” Sansa had turned to her, a small smile forming on her lips. Brienne’s face betrayed her and flushed deeply. 

“You fancy him, don’t you….” Sansa started, playfully but still gentle. “Gods know he’s much more of a warrior than Jaime… Taller too, and probably bigger…” Brienne thought that she couldn’t blush more, but she did as Sansa hinted at the size of the big man’s cock. That was all it took for Sansa to break out into a giggle, then she reached up and embraced her. 

“You’re healing, Brienne…” Sansa gushed, locking Brienne in a tight hug. “You might be my Queensguard but I’ll never make you swear a vow off men like the gold cloaks. If you want to lay with the big man all I ask is that you have Sandor stand at my door those nights.” Sansa squeezed tighter, then let go, returning to her desk where she was writing letters and preparing the castle for visitors from Castle Black. 

This time Brienne couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh. She knew Sandor would agree, but he wouldn’t be outside of her chamber door for long. Sansa was already too focused on writing to notice, and the two girls sat together in happy silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Sansan coming up soon! Also Sansa & Jon reunion, Brienne/Tormund and a letter from someone we haven't heard from in a while... Who's it gonna be (dun dun dun)


	13. Scars (Sansa)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long my dudes <3

Sansa made herself very busy preparing Winterfell for Jon and his men from Castle Black. She knew that as long as they had a roof above their heads and meat and wine on the table, they would not care much else what she had done, but Sansa needed something to keep her mind off what had been happening every second night when Sandor would come to her room.

He would always stand at her door until she invited him in, and he would stand by the foot of her bed until she asked him to hold her. Each time he would touch her so gently, and she would find her body betraying her- pulling closer to him and kissing him. And each time, he kissed her back, not just on her lips, but down her neck, over her breasts, and…

_ He kisses me down there… Is that what lords and ladies do in the marriage bed? Would he like it if I did that to him? _

__ After the first night, Sandor hadn’t let her touch him again. He would always push her hand away, kiss her forehead and pull her back down under the furs where she would sleep in his arms. 

_ Of course he doesn’t want me to touch him. He made that damn vow, of course he would come into my bed and do that thing with his mouth… But he wouldn’t want to lay with a woman like me… Scarred and used up by another man first… He did say I was beautiful, but what was he supposed to say to his queen? _

__ Sansa slumped back in her chair, her day of work not enough to take her mind off her sworn shield, who would be at her door again tonight. 

A cool breeze hit her shoulder from her open window, and Sansa decided to finish her planning for the day and walk outside. She threw a big fur cloak over her shoulders, and left her chambers. It was snowing lightly, but the cold felt wonderful on her skin and in her hair. Sansa walked around the battlements of the castle, observing the stables and the training yard from above. Hunters were arriving back at the castle on horses, their fresh kills slung over their shoulders. 

_ Looks like enough meat to feed the men who will arrive soon.  _

__ She made a note to thank the hunting men when either Brienne or Sandor was by her side, and if they had fur to spare, make them new cloaks. Maybe something light for the coming spring. 

Sansa then turned her attention to the training yard, where some of the younger boys were sparring with wooden swords. She saw a girl, much younger than the rest with a sword in hand trying to get a hit in when she could. The girl’s mother was calling her, but she didn’t seem to hear- or care. 

__ _ Just like Arya… I miss her so much, I hope she’s alright… Will I ever hear from her again? _

__ Lost in thought of her sister, she missed the tall knight entering the yard. The young boys and the little girl all moved aside to watch Brienne as she donned her armor and drew her sword. She had been watching them play, and was now showing them the proper way to swing their swords. They watched her intently, and tried the movements she showed them on their own. 

Sansa smiled as she watched her friend. Brienne was so kind and gentle, and Sansa admired her skills with her sword almost as much as she admired Brienne’s honour and loyalty. She would make a wonderful mother one day, if she ever wanted to. Sansa had been praying every day for her friend, and when she found out that Brienne fancied a man after Jaime, she had been delighted. She had seen Brienne go through so much pain at the hands of the Lannister man, and all she wanted for her friend was a true and happy love.

The cold that had felt so nice on her skin started to bite, and Sansa turned to go back in, when she started to hear chanting from the children in the yard. She turned and watched as Sandor entered the yard, and the cheers for him and Brienne to fight continued. 

Sansa forgot about the cold and her face flushed, looking at Sandor’s huge frame. He was in simple leather armor, and he still stood slightly taller than Brienne. A flash of worry came over Sansa for her friend, but it quickly went away when she saw Brienne raise her sword, ready to fight. 

_ I hope they won’t kill each other! _

__ Sansa couldn’t tear herself away as the two lunged at each other and parried each other’s blows. They were quite evenly matched, it seemed, but neither seemed to be truly trying to hurt the other. She could have sworn she saw a smile cross Brienne’s face, but it was quickly followed by a look of pure concentration as she pulled her sword across her chest to block a blow from above. It was too late though, and she was knocked to the ground by Sandor’s blade. He laughed, then extended a hand to her, helping her up. The two had exchanged a few words as they fought, but Sansa was much too far away to hear. She wondered if they had made up- last time the two had been in the same room she could have sworn Brienne would kill him. 

_ They would make good friends, if they would let each other in… At least for now they can practice together. _

__ Brienne left the yard, but Sandor stayed. He didn’t speak to the group gathered to watch, but he didn’t tell them to fuck off either. He was gentle in his own way, and Sansa loved it. She watched how the muscles in his arms rippled and moved as he swung the large sword. An ache of desire overcame her, and she felt warmth spread between her thighs. Sansa thought of his rugged features, his massive strength, his prowess in battle…

_ And in bed, when he came to her those nights… _

__ Sansa watched Sandor as he practiced, and thought of what he had been doing with her in her bed at night. She never knew she could feel that much, not at the hands- or mouth- of a man. Sansa wondered if he would like it if she touched him the way he did to her, or if she used her lips to kiss him in other places. She swore that she would try if he ever did let her. She wanted to know how he would look, how he would sound if she brought him to the same pleasure he was giving her. 

Sansa was lost in thought when she saw Sandor turn, and his eye met hers. 

_ He knows you’re watching him… He must think you’re crazy for him. Would he be wrong to think that though?  _

__ She held his gaze for a moment, then turned to return to her chambers. The cold was biting at her hands and her face. Distracted in her thoughts of Sandor she hadn’t noticed, but as she stepped inside her skin burned. She called for Pia to bring her hot water for a bath before she would retire for the night. Before she would see him again. 

As Sansa soaked in her bath and washed herself, she noticed a nervous look on her maid’s face. Sansa knew that Pia was afraid of Sandor, especially after what his brother and his men had done to her back at Harrenhal. Gregor’s mailed fist had taken out most of the poor girls teeth and broken her nose badly- all because she spoke when the Mountain wanted silence. She had been raped by his men repeatedly until the fort was retaken. Sansa put her hand on the girl’s shoulder, and spoke to her gently.

“He is not like his brother at all, the Hound. Sandor is gentle and kind to women, he would never hurt you. He almost lost his own life when he killed Gregor. He would have killed the other men who hurt you too, if he were there.”

Pia looked shocked as Sansa spoke to her. She must not have known how afraid she looked when she saw Sandor, and even when she heard his name brought up. Relief crossed over her face when Sansa told her that Gregor was dead though. Sansa even saw a faint smile on her broken mouth. 

“You fancy him.”

Sansa blushed, but did not deny Pia’s words. She did fancy Sandor, more than fancy him if she were being honest with herself. 

“I do. He was kind to me when no one else was. He is gentle with me when other men weren’t.” Sansa said, justifying her feelings for Sandor not only to her maid but to herself. She knew he wasn’t the type to fancy a woman, to use pretty words and court her, but she would take everything he gave. 

After her bath, she dismissed Pia and turned to the task of dressing herself. 

_ Do I even need to dress myself? He always takes off whatever I wear… Maybe he would like it if I saved him that task… _

__ Sansa left a warm nightgown at the side of her bed just in case, then sat and began brushing out her hair. She had counted eighty-nine strokes of the brush when she heard Sandor knock on her door once, letting her know he was standing outside. Sansa threw her furs over her naked body and she called for him to enter. 

He no longer wore armor like he had when she watched him in the yard, and it looked like he had bathed himself before coming to her. His hair hung down over his scarred face, and Sansa wished to push it out of the way, to see him as he was. She cursed herself in her head for choosing to go naked- her arms were holding her furs up and she couldn’t reach out for him without exposing herself. 

This time, Sandor sat on her bed without waiting for her to ask. 

“Spying on me today little bird?”

Sansa loved his voice, she loved the tone he spoke to her in- rough but gentle at the same time- and she loved the way he still called her little bird. She was quickly losing control of herself, craving to touch him. She answered his accusation, trying to keep her voice level.

“I was worried Brienne might kill you.” 

Sandor chuckled. 

“Do you think I would let Brienne of fucking Tarth kill me without seeing or tasting you one last time?”

Sansa’s face turned a deep red.

_ He likes this. At least a little bit, he must…  _

__ She was about to reach for him and let him see her nude form, but he got to her first, pinning her shoulders to the bed and kissing her fiercely. He devoured her mouth and Sansa let him. She kissed him back eagerly.

Sandor slid his lips down on her neck, and reached to pull her furs off her. He let out a low growl when he saw that she lay naked underneath, ready for him.

“Seven bloody hells, Sansa Stark…” 

Sansa immediately thought to cover her scarred stomach with her hands, but Sandor was ahead of her, grabbing both of her wrists in one of his big hands and holding them above her head. His mouth latched onto her breast and his free hand kneaded the other. His knee slid up between her thighs and she ground her hips into it, her body craving the friction. 

“So… Fucking… Beautiful…” Sandor whispered as he sucked and very gently tugged at her nipples. He let go of her wrists, only to bring his other hand down to where she was already hot and slick. Sansa tried to contain herself but couldn’t keep from letting out little moans as he touched her. 

“Little bird...” Sandor gasped as his fingers ran over her wetness. 

All Sansa wanted was for him to keep going, for him to touch her until she reached the height of her pleasure, but she remembered her thoughts from earlier. She had to try now, or he might not let her touch him. 

Sansa sat up, and pushed him away. It pained her to see him look so surprised and hurt at the same time, but as she reached to where she wanted to touch him, he closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. She rubbed him over his clothes, and watched as his face seemed to relax. He was so handsome, even with the scars-

_ Especially with those scars. Without them he could be anyone. When I look at his face I know I am with Sandor… I know I lov- _

__ Sansa cut herself off, not allowing her mind to go down that path. She would take what he would let her have and be grateful. She was no maiden, and being marked the way she was she was lucky he would give her this. 

She tugged at the hem of his tunic as she felt him through his clothes, and he gestured at it, as if to ask her permission.

“You want this off?”

Sansa nodded, and watched as Sandor lifted it over his head, leaving himself bare chested. He was covered in hair and scars, and she ran her hands up and down his chest feeling nothing but muscle beneath. Sansa leaned in to kiss a long scar that ran from his collarbone all the way to his stomach. She wondered how he had gotten it, if he even remembered. 

“Gregor,” he whispered as if he knew what she had been thinking. Sansa kissed it again, and turned her attention to another, this one looked like he had been stabbed in his side. She did the same thing, kissing lightly. She looked up at him, wondering if he had a name to go with it. 

“Boros Blount… I damn near killed him in the yard after Joffrey…” Sandor trailed off, and Sansa remembered the time the kingsguard had beaten her brutally as Joffrey watched and laughed. 

Sansa knew that most of the stories he might tell would be of terrible men, and most of them would end in the death of the man who left the scar. She turned her attention back to his face. She looked up at him, and he leaned down, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. 

“Never again… Anyone even fucking thinks of hurting you again and I’ll cut them to pieces… You know that right?”

He grabbed her chin even though she was already looking up at him. She stared into his face, into his good eye, and saw Sandor Clegane looking vulnerable. She took her hands from her chest, and cupped his face, then slowly brought her lips back to his. She kissed him gently at first, but as his hands tangled in her hair and around her waist, it became more desperate and hungry. 

Sansa felt hands slide down and grab her ass, and this time she dragged her lips down his neck, over his chest, and down further until she reached his breeches. She didn’t hesitate to pull them down, over his hardness, but when he sprung free she gasped. 

Sansa had never been allowed to look at Ramsay when he took her, but through small glances and touches, she knew that he was nothing compared to what was in front of her right now. 

_ Will this even fit in me? I know it’s supposed to hurt for the woman but… _

__ Still wanting to try what she had been thinking about earlier, she leaned forward and kissed the tip of it. She licked her lips to moisten them and did it again, this time lapping at him lightly with her tongue. Sandor groaned as she kept going, bringing a hand up to stroke himself as she used her mouth. Wanting to be the one responsible for his pleasure, she briefly watched how he touched himself, then nudged his hand away and replaced it with her own. 

Sandor brought his hands back to her hair and he guided her as she licked and kissed and sucked at him. It wasn’t long until he started bucking his hips, and he pulled away, spilling himself on her chest and stomach. Sansa kissed him there once more, and curious, she took a little of his seed on her finger and put it to her lips. Sandor watched her intently as she tasted it- it was like salt and sweat and she lapped up the small drop she had on her finger, loving the way he looked at her. 

Sansa would have been content to sleep then, but after she cleaned herself off and lay back down on her bed she found Sandor kneeling before her, hands pushing her legs apart. 

“You don’t have to… I know you did before but… If you don’t want...” Anxiety crept into her and her body tensed. She closed her legs and reached to pull the fur over her. 

“You think I don’t want this?” Sandor looked a mix of hurt and angry. “Sansa Stark when I saw you as a girl child here years ago I knew you were beautiful. I wanted to fuck you at the Red Keep and I wanted to fuck you the night of the Blackwater and you and your sweet cunt have been in my dreams ever since. Why the fuck do you think I came back to this frozen fucking Castle?”

_ He wanted me… He might even still... _

Sandor lay down beside her, and she could feel his arms wrap around her. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“I told you that only one thing would make me happy. I rode all the fucking way to King’s Landing and killed my brother and that wasn’t it. When you told me I could be the one to keep you safe I knew it was you, little bird. You are the only fucking thing that would make a bitter old dog like me happy. I bloody love you Sansa Stark.”

_ By the Gods… Sandor, my Sandor… _

__ The tears in Sansa’s eyes flowed over, and she threw her arms around Sandor Clegane. They stayed like that, holding each other tightly until they both slowly drifted off into a peaceful sleep. Sansa Stark dreamed of Winterfell in the spring. New life was growing all around her and there in the Godswood she could have sworn she saw three puppies running around, playfully chasing each other. Sandor was by her side, and she was truly happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep that's enough sap to make some maple syrup (I'm Canadian can u tell LOL)  
> Hope it was worth waiting a bit for, I didn't expect this story to be nearly this long so y'all gonna have to bear with me here- I have a lot of things I'm sure about but some other story elements I'm just going with as I write. Idk how to do this, but as long as y'all keep reading I'll keep writing and posting. Thanks for all the support, especially y'all who I see pop up in the comments and Kudos. Truly grateful.


	14. The Dog and the Wolf (Sandor)

Sandor woke from his sleep with auburn hair in his mouth and arms full of Sansa Stark. She hadn’t awoken yet, but she breathed peacefully beside him.

_Fuck I have to piss._

Sandor decided he would rather be uncomfortable than wake the sleeping Sansa, so he stayed put. Her back was to him with her perfect ass rubbing against him in just the right way to get him hard. She must have felt it, because she pushed herself closer and tossed her head back, still sleeping. 

“Oh… Sandor....” 

She moaned his name in her sleep and Sandor had to use all of the self control he had to keep himself from touching her. He didn’t need to though, the way she was moving felt fucking amazing. He ground himself against her, craving more than this but unwilling to take it from her without asking. 

Sandor didn’t wait long though, his movement on her had been enough to wake the Lady beside him. Sansa yawned and stretched, pulling the furs down over her gorgeous perky breasts. Sandor watched as she stretched and untangled herself from him, only to roll herself over on top.

“You stayed…”

She was smiling, and her voice was playful. Most mornings Sandor would leave the room before she woke, but he had been so tired after starting to train again that he had slept through the night. 

“Aye.”

Sandor looked up at the Queen of the North sitting on his pelvis, not quite as low as he would have liked. Her hair was unruly and stuck out in odd places. Her face was pink and her eyes were bright. She had slept well too. Sandor could feel her warmth on his skin and tried not to think about how her hot sweet cunt was just in front of him, in his reach. Instead, he put a hand on her waist, loving how tiny she felt under his large hands. 

Sansa put her hands on his chest, then leaned down to kiss his face. He never understood why she would even want to look at that side of his face, but she kissed it so gently. He felt so vulnerable and open when she did this. At first he had hated it, but upon seeing Sansa’s own scars, he thought he might understand. 

Sansa was still kissing his face, giggling when his hair would stick to her lips. She slid her lips over his eyelids, down his nose, and onto his own lips. She kissed him lightly and playfully, nibbling on his bottom lip but not hard enough to hurt. Sandor reached up to brush a lock of her hair out of her face. She was so fucking beautiful.

She pulled away, her face flushed. 

“You dreamed of me, little bird?” Sandor had heard her say his name, and now that she had woken she was full of affection. For him. 

_The bloody Hound. This woman- Sansa Stark- wants an old ugly dog in her bed._

He thanked the Gods as he watched her blush even more. Now she knew he had heard her talk in her sleep.

“I did dream of you Sandor, my knight. Would you like to know what we did?”

She was bloody teasing him and he wasn’t sure how long he could take it. She knew he hated knights and their titles but he found himself even harder as she had used the damned word. 

“Aye, show me little bird.”

Sandor reached between her thighs to find her already dripping wet. He wished she might let him drink of her, to taste her again until she came but she remained on top of him, unmoving. She took her breast in her hand, squeezing and tweaking her nipple like he would have. Her other hand slipped to her cunt, pushing his out of the way. She found the place that made her sing and made slow circles around it. He slid his hands up and down her thighs, enjoying her show. 

She brought herself to her own peak twice before Sandor thought he truly could take no more, and reached for his cock, hoping to relieve some of the pressure building up in his balls. Sansa pushed his hand away again and reached behind her to take him in her hand. He let out a low groan. She stroked him just like he had showed her and rubbed herself on his skin, still taking pleasure in the friction. 

“You felt so good inside me…” Sansa lifted her hips and positioned him at her entrance. Sandor immediately grabbed her waist, holding her up and off of him. It was the last thing he wanted to do but he would know she was bloody sure she wanted this before it was too late. 

“Are you sure little bird? We don’t have to-”

Sansa shut him up with a kiss and he loosened his grip on her. She slid down onto him and he saw fucking stars. 

Sandor had fucked before, but nothing in his life had ever felt so sweet as being inside the cunt of his Sansa. He watched her face as she moved on him. She flinched when he first entered her, but as she adjusted to his size and depth, her face flushed and she let out small moans and ahhs. He stayed still, letting her lift herself off him and back down again, finding her rhythm.

Sandor had been holding her thighs, but he moved a hand up to her breast, and brought the other down to that place she had circled with her own hand earlier. She cried out when he touched her, and Sandor almost released in her. Remembering his intention the first night he had spent with her- to make it last as long as she wanted it, he held himself back. He wanted her to come at least one more time before he spent. 

Sansa changed the angle of her hips, and he felt her tighten inside. He put more pressure on her nipple and her little nub, and she threw her head back, shouting his name in that same reverent tone she had used when he first used his mouth on her. He tensed himself, pulling himself back from his own pleasure as she fell apart on top of him. 

When Sansa came down from her peak, her face was beautifully pink and she was breathing heavily, mumbling his name and-

_Did Sansa Stark just bloody curse?_

He kept his laugh to himself, not wanting to distract her from how she was riding him, but she had already slumped over onto his chest, exhausted. He knew he would have to help her so he pushed himself up to sitting, her still in his lap and impaled on him, their legs tangled together. Sansa leaned in and kissed his face again and Sandor began to lift her on and off him, setting his own pace now. Sansa kissed his skin and whispered sweet things to him.

_She never stops that damned chirping-_

 _“_ Oh Sandor… I love you…”

Sandor froze, and could feel the tears welling in his eye. He looked into Sansa’s face. She looked at him with complete adoration. Her pretty mouth kissed him on his burns, over his eye that could no longer see, and so delicately on his own lips. 

_She doesn’t care. This woman, the most beautiful fucking woman in the seven kingdoms loves you, blinded and scarred, rough and angry._

Tears rolled down his cheek and Sandor Clegane allowed himself for the first time to feel loved. Fuck it if he were dreaming or dead, if his Sansa loved him, he would stop at nothing to make her know he felt the same for her. He loved her so bloody much, the little bird who was now kissing his tears away. 

As if Sansa knew exactly what he needed, she started moving her hips again on him. Sandor ran his hands down through her hair, over her arms and her breasts, skimmed over her waist and grabbed her ass. He ran hands down her legs and her feet, wanting to touch every part of Sansa, to show her that he loved her. He lifted her off him and lay her down on the bed beside him, and went for her breasts with his mouth. He traced the bite marks around them with his lips, then the scars on her stomach, down her thighs and on her back. He was not a man of pretty words so he breathed threats of terrible violence to those who had hurt her as he tried to kiss her past pain away. 

“Sandor… Please…” Sansa breathed and with that he was gone. He positioned himself on top of her now, and pushed himself back into her cunt. Now that she was prepared and used to it, Sansa moaned with pleasure as he filled her again, and he took her at his own pace, fucking her deeply as she cried out. He felt himself tightening in his balls again, and this time he let it happen. Sandor spilled deep inside her, feeling her clench and pulse around him as he did. 

He would have stayed and held her there all day- fuck, he would do it all his life if he could- but there were duties that each of them had, and it was him who reminded her of it. Sansa made a sad little noise as he pulled away from her and stood to dress himself. He had never stayed this late, and he hoped no one would see him leaving her families wing in such a state. He never wished to bring dishonor on his Queen. 

Sansa smiled at him as Sandor walked to the door. She was still in bed naked, his seed dripping down her thighs. If it weren’t for his duties he would have stayed and had her again, all day or as long as she could take it. He pushed the thought out of his head as he unlatched the door, and opened it. The hall was clear, and he exited Sansa’s chambers, closing the door behind him. He had made it to the end of the hall when a door opened behind him and he spun, hand reaching for his sword. 

“You’ve been sharing Lady Sansa’s bed. I know you’re no hound anymore but if you ever hurt her or upset her, you will die at the blade of my sword. Understood?”

The harsh voice of Lord Royce was not loud, but it still shook him. He knew the man spoke truly. Sandor had heard how the man had taken the filthy Gawen’s head. Sandor nodded, and Royce turned, retreating back to his own chambers. In a way, the older Lord reminded him of Sansa’s father. 

Sandor reminded himself to go to the smith boy today and check on his gift for Sansa. Gendry had said that the steel was challenging to work, but with both halves reunited, he would be able to reforge something that would resemble Ned Stark’s ancient greatsword Ice. He supposed that Gendry was doing it as much for Arya as he was for Sandor, as the boy had refused pay for the job. 

_Poor boy’s still in love with her._

Sandor Clegane said a silent prayer to the Gods for Arya Stark as he walked back to his chambers. 


End file.
